Passions and Jealousy
by KnightFury
Summary: Holmes can be somewhat possessive when the mood takes him. Sometimes, he can shock even himself.


Passions and Jealousy

Holmes:

I wish that I could understand my fiancée. Why the deuce does she wish to watch these films, bored or not? Surely there are better ways to spend a rainy day indoors, without turning to games such as Trivial Pursuits or Articulate.

Lestrade smiles to herself as the film that we have been watching draws to a close. I know that smile, but for once those dancing violet eyes are not fixed upon me but instead the man on the screen - a fellow who is currently leaping into the air with a cry of "Wahey!"

"What are you thinking of my dear?"

She shrugs. "I was just thinking what guts that guy had."

I blink at her. "What do you mean?"

"Well... He'd do things that weren't in the script, if they felt right at the time, for a start. Like that - the jumping down the steps like that - that was a difficult case you'd just solved and there was a lot at stake... I guess he thought you'd be pleased with yourself. He tried a few different things and that's what the production team went with."

I shrug. "What was daring about it?"

"Don't get all jealous about it! I didn't mean he's any braver than you are. I just meant that... Aw zed, I dunno! There are different kinds o' brave Sherlock; he dared to try to bring you to life - and it paid off! Zed, he made you seem real..."

"I am real!" I shout at her. "Am I not sitting beside you on your damned settee? Confound it woman!"

She has jumped and is staring at me. "What's your problem? Don't you get what I mean?"

"No," I snap back at her. "Should I know what it is that you mean?"

She grimaces, rubbing at the back of her neck and then fiddling with her hair. "He put life into the stories - and into you. He... He studied Watson's stories to get you as right as he could, you know - he studied your era too."

I shrug. "Mr. Brett must not have found very much time for himself."

"No. Probably not. I guess his work was important to him - and that's something you've got in common."

"Yes, I suppose that it is," I admit with a slight nod. "But my work is also important to my clients, the law, the country - and, most importantly, in the name of justice!"

She shrugs. "Yeah, OK, point taken; he's not you. I never said he was though. I just said that the two of you 'd probably find out that you've got a lot more in common than either o' you 'd think."

She is quiet for a moment and then she smirks.

"He did give a lot o' people a lot o' pleasure though - isn't that important? OK, it's not life 'n' death, but you can't say he did the work just 'cause he loved it. Matter o' fact, he made a lot o' sacrifices for his work - like you."

Why does she insist upon comparing him with me? He does not seem very much like me at all! Something about him makes me think of Watson. For instance, I can see that he is overly brusque because offhanded behaviours do not come naturally to him - I imagine that comparing such a man with one such as me would be quite an insult to him.

"He is not very much like me at all."

She shrugs. "Doesn't mean you can't have anything in common."

I cannot argue with that. I consider her words for a moment. It is then that I realise that I have missed something blindingly obvious.

"How do you come to know so much about the fellow anyway?"

She shrugs. "I dunno... Wikipedia, the disc collection's bonus features..." she clears her throat. "The books a friend o' mine got me too."

I clench my fists as a strange feeling settles in my stomach. It is similar to the way that I sometimes felt when Watson showed her ancestor more consideration than he did me, but stronger and even more unpleasant. I wonder if this is what a fellow feels like when he discovers his wife to be unfaithful. Is it wrong for me to feel this way?

"Perhaps you should bring the gentleman back to life. I would quite like to have a little chat with him," I find myself saying. I know not whether I am thinking of his portrayal of me or my fiancée's attraction to him, but I know that I am being quite ridiculous.

Lestrade:

I really don't get this guy. Give him a compliment and he goes all quiet and shy; give some other guy a compliment and he gets jealous about it!

"Zeddit! No Sherlock - I'm not gonna bring him back to life just so you can yell at the guy and tell him all the things he got wrong about you. Zed! He's one o' the best actors that ever played you - and the only one that really cared about trying to get you right and follow the stories properly."

"Humph! He did a poor job of it."

"Yeah? Maybe I should let you see one o' the others after all." I won't though - if he doesn't like the way Jeremy Brett played him, there's no way he'd like any o' the others or the way they went about it. He'd definitely have a lot to say about Robert Downey Junior.

"Why do you enjoy watching these so much anyway?" he asks suddenly. "Or even reading the stories - you have Watson's old journals; you know that the stories are only a snapshot of what really happened at best."

I feel my face turn hot and shrug, turning away. "The show and movies take me back to when I first started watching 'em, OK? I was at college then."

"Why are you blushing?"

I shrug. "Maybe it's 'cause I can feel you trying to see inside my head."

"You like him!"

I squirm in my place on the couch. I can't help it - I've never seen Sherlock Holmes so possessive before and he's making me uncomfortable.

"Beth! Why did you bring me back to life and not him?"

Is he zedding crazy? "I never brought you back to have a relationship with you - I didn't even think you'd really like me all that much. Zed! I wouldn't expect a guy like Jeremy Brett to like me all that much either and it's not like he'd have to look all that far if he wanted to find someone to... to pair off with."

"Hum!"

"Aw come on! You've got zedding eyes - he's handsome. I used to have quite a crush on him when I was Deirdre's age. Maybe even before that."

Holmes:

I stare at her blankly. I know not quite what to say. But then I look at the actor from her perspective and realise that there are quite a number of points in his favour. His nature radiates through the screen, captured centuries ago on film despite his best efforts and acting prowess. How could any female not be drawn to that alone? Then there is his energy... and, I grudgingly admit, his graceful movements and handsome features. He must truly have been very handsome indeed when he was Beth's age.

"Why did you not think to bring him back? You know that you can now - you brought Watson back from the grave. Why would you settle for me when you could have a man like him?"

Lestrade:

Is this guy serious? "For one thing, he isn't you Sherlock."

Before I can say another word he's jumped up and started pacing like a lunatic while he runs his hands through his hair and messes it up.

"One would think that that would be one point in the man's favour," he snarls. I've never seen him like this before.

"OK, fine. I'll admit it. I find him attractive. The guy's good looking, he was intelligent, charismatic, had a great sense o' humour... I would've liked to 've met him. What's not to like?"

He starts pacing faster. I'm starting to worry he's gonna give himself a heart attack or something. I slowly stand up and then grab him as he passes me, holding him close.

"Maybe I'm just attracted to amazing people Sherlock. But nobody can beat you - living or dead - in my opinion, so you're pretty safe, ain't ya?"

He gazes down at me. "You think me amazing?" he asks in a very quiet, vulnerable voice.

He looks so scared and upset that for a second I think he's gonna cry and I crane my neck to kiss his cheek.

"'Course I do! Think I'd wanna marry you if I didn't feel like that? I'm kinda like you too Sherlock - I don't make friends easily, I don't really spend much time with other people and I like to be busy 'n' inspired. I hate being bored 'n' having nothing to do. You're the best thing that ever happened to me 'n' I don't think I could love anyone else now - not even if I could 've before I knew you."

He's staring back at me, his grey eyes wide as a cat's and shining with tears.

"Yes," I finish quietly. "Yes, I think you're the most awesome guy anyone could ever meet. You're really amazing."

He sniffs and shrugs. He's tense in my arms - he's still upset and maybe even scared.

"You do not even know what 'awesome' means," he says in that haughty way o' his. "It is used incorrectly these days - anything vaguely exciting or unusual or inspiring is 'awesome', these days."

"So what should it mean?" I ask impatiently. I hate him when he does this - I feel like hitting him when he decides to be all aloof and superior with me (but it's funny when he does it to someone who deserves it).

"It means 'life changing'," he snaps. "I do believe that that word is rather over-the-top."

I smirk at him. "I know my life was never the same after I met you - same goes for Watson. You're awesome, even if you can't see it yourself."

Holmes:

I gaze into her face for a long moment as I consider her words. She is certainly being sincere, for there is an honest truth shining in those beautiful eyes of hers.

"Then I am clearly drawn to remarkable... awesome... people myself. I have met many remarkable women that I might have loved, but none were quite as brilliant as you. And then there is Watson, of course... No other man could be the friend to me that Watson is and always has been - and none would wish to."

She takes my hand and drags me back to the settee, promptly arranging herself close (much too close) to my side with her head at my shoulder.

"Wanna watch another?" she asks lazily.

We have done nothing else for hours and I should quite like to freshen up, but I cannot bring myself to make the adequate excuse. Carefully I sit up a little straighter in the hope of better managing my discomfort.

"Cup o' tea first?" Beth offers as she too sits up.

That will provide me with a perfect opportunity to disappear without the need for an excuse or word of explanation. Besides, I do believe that I would like one.

"Yes please."

She smiles and squeezes my arm. "You OK?"

I nod and return her smile.

"Wanna tell me why you got so upset?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I have never loved anyone as I love you. It is confusing and... and sometimes frightening. I know that I am not an easy fellow to like..."

She throws her arms about me with such spontaneity that I almost jump.

"I love you," she tells me firmly as she presses herself close to me. "There's nothing you can do or say that can make me love you any less than I do. I know you too well."

"Thank you. I shall try to keep that in mind when I next see you admiring another man."

She kisses my cheek and stands, much to my relief; if she does not leave me soon I am going to be forced to confess my current discomfort, which no Victorian gentleman should ever do. I am not at all sure that I could even if I attempted it anyway - the words would more than likely catch in my throat.

By the time the tea is made I am back in my place on the settee as if I never left it. Lestrade then excuses herself with all the tact of a modern woman while I patiently sip at my drink and consider which film we should watch next. I must confess that I am beginning to wish to know this actor better myself, if only because Beth Lestrade believes him to be as amazing a man as Watson and I. Could we have been friends had the gentleman lived in our era?

"Before we watch another," I begin as I still my fiancée's hand as it prepares to reach for the remote control, "I believe I should like to know some of what you know about Mr. Jeremy Brett; why are you so drawn to him?"

She smiles at me with a teasing expression. "Sure you won't get jealous?"

"I believe I am feeling better now - calmer. Perhaps I did need a cup of tea." And a moment of privacy, with the addition of an opportunity to wash my hands and face.

Lestrade:

What can I tell him? There's so much that I know about the guy I'm not sure where to start. Besides, I'm pretty sure there are some things I shouldn't tell him.

"I'll tell you why I kept saying you're like him in some ways first."

He snorts impatiently. "You have already told me that we are both 'awesome' men."

"You're both clever and you're great actors. You're both charismatic and brave. Like you, he was a gentleman - and had a gentleman's pride. He was eccentric too."

"I am not eccentric," he grumbles.

"No? You still fix papers to your fireplace with a knife."

He shrugs. "An old habit."

Maybe. "Where d'you keep your matches?"

In the coal scuttle. I've seen him light the fire plenty o' times. He keeps the long lighter on top of the fireplace where his pipe rack probably belonged in his day.

"As I say, it is an old habit. My cigarettes and matches always lived in the coal scuttle."

And I rest my case. He's eccentric. "Anyway, you've got a lot o' things in common - he kept his bow and arrows in his toilet."

"I hope not," he mutters.

"The bathroom Sherlock - not actually in the bowl o' the toilet."

He shudders. "I protest at your dreadful humour. But it would make sense to keep one's bow in close proximity to one's bath or shower - the steam would keep the wood from drying out."

"That's what he said. He felt the cold pretty bad and had the heating on a lot, probably."

Something else they've got in common - Sherlock feels the cold easily too.

"These are mostly trivial things."

OK, so I'll give him something that isn't so trivial. "Careful what you wish for. You might not wanna know everything that I know."

He raises his eyebrows. "Why? You have told me that he was a gentleman and you know my definition of the term - you would not say it if his conduct was shocking."

Right, OK. So that isn't gonna work - I've well and truly piqued his curiosity.

"Well... he loved fiercely too. Remember how you grieved when you and Watson were apart? I think he felt like that when his wife died."

He turns away to look at the screen. The menu's still up and he's watching the subject of our conversation with a strange, pained look on his face and trembling, glittering grey eyes.

"That was... then... Oh. I knew that there was something about him that I could detect but not place. There are moments when the man is glimpsed through his portrayals - every actor does it, if one knows what to watch for."

"What're you talking about?"

"Watch him during the explanation at the conclusion of the Priory School and you will see Mr. Brett reacting to the words. I have little doubt that you know the scene - the part in which the mother of the illegitimate son and the love that the Duke of Holdernesse felt for her - even though they could not marry and even after her death - is described. During those moments, watch Mr. Brett's expressions and reactions. He reacted as I could not at that time, because as much as I understood the pangs of grief I had not felt them as I have now. But he had. Oh!" he claps a hand to his forehead. "And to think that I thought that he was over acting! I am as blind as a beetle! Of course! He was grieving and the words were far too close to home."

I wrap my arms round him, hold him tight and rest my head at his shoulder. He's shaking.

"You OK?"

"I suddenly wish that I had a time machine," he whispers. "Because I truly do have a thing or two to say to him now. The poor fellow! What... what became of him?"

I swallow carefully - last thing I want is for something in my voice to tell him more than I want to. "He had some good friends - Edward Hardwicke (the second Watson) was there for him and there were one or two others too."

"But he never married again."

"Could you, if you felt like that?" I ask with curiosity.

He shakes his head and sniffs. "No. No, I could not. I do believe... Some people are not meant to be parted Beth. I very much doubt that I could exist forever - or even for very long - in this world with you or Watson gone from it."

Then he was fading away because Watson wasn't here. I always knew it really, but having it confirmed like this still hurts - the thought o' this self-proclaimed 'selfish automaton' nearly dying of a broken heart because o' my thoughtless attitude is horrible.

"Come on, let's stop chatting 'n' watch another one."

He chuckles, though I think there's a sob in there somewhere. "Very well my dear. Show me another of your favourites."

We settle down together once I've made the selection. It's funny how different Sherlock's attitude is this time - he's watching with a lot more interest and a lot less annoyance than before.


End file.
